Undone
by alwayssoinlove
Summary: Post-ep for 7x14 (so don't read if you don't want spoilers) and sort of spec-fic for 7x15.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or its characters in any way, shape, or form. **

**Spoilers for 7x14 ahead.**

* * *

He couldn't breathe.

They had waited at the precinct, thinking there was no need to assume the worst until they were sure she wouldn't walk through the elevator doors with knowledge from their witness.

But he knew.

He called her over and over again, her voicemail recording like a death march in his ear. Her voice was comforting, but it meant she could be anywhere, she could be-

He knew.

It wasn't hard to see; the cryptic phone call, the wicked wink. He knew.

But he didn't want to believe it for a second.

* * *

He goes home. Without her.

It's a strange feeling for him to walk into the loft alone and not see her there, waiting for him. It's strange not to be walking in with her and greeting his mother or his daughter before crawling into bed together.

It's only been a couple of hours, but God, he misses her.

His daughter meets him in the kitchen. Her concerned, "Where's Kate?" is all it takes to undo him.

He clutches Alexis to him with a strangled, "I don't know."

* * *

Her pillow smells like cherries. Like her.

He regrets going home. Gates made him leave, saying there was nothing for him to do, and that he should be with his family.

He _should _be with his family. He _should _be with Kate.

He still had to leave, despite his protests, but he wishes that he never went home. Everything smells like her, belongs to her, reminds him of something she touched. All he has are tiny remnants of her that fill him with enough grief to swallow them whole.

He wished he never went home because here, surrounded by small fractions of her, it feels like she's already dead.

* * *

A body.

A dead, cold body that looks just like her.

He sees her tied to a chair, and his body is propelled forward to her immediately.

He kneels in front of her, tears on his face while he tentatively cradles hers.

Esposito undoes the hand restraints and she pitches forward into his chest, limp and cold and dead. Where there would normally be warmth skating on the collar of his shirt, there is nothing. Where there would normally be a steady pulse jumping under the skin of her neck, there is silence.

He is not silent. He is howling and crying and apologizing to her for everything as if he's the one who did it to her. He is apologizing for the fact that she won't be his 'next time.' He is apologizing for all the things she never got to do.

But it isn't her. It isn't Kate.

It's a woman with cheek fillers and a nose job and hair colored to look like Kate, but it isn't her.

* * *

Three months.

Three months without her.

He wonders how she found the strength to work his case, because it's killing him. He wonders how she looked at his face on a murder board and didn't weep in front of her coworkers, because he can't make himself stop.

* * *

By some miracle, they find a warehouse that is very likely her location.

By some miracle, he doesn't sprint recklessly inside.

They make their way through the building cautiously, clearing every single room in the large building. He tries not to get his hopes up, but that's impossible.

He knows she could be dead. But after so long, he just wants to _know. _

They reach a small, rusted door. Esposito kicks it in, and he holds his breath.

There she is. She has her wedding ring and the tattered remains of the clothes she was last seen wearing, and she's lying on the ground like she was dumped there. She probably was.

He's on the ground in seconds, holding her in his lap so tight that it has to hurt her. His hand presses her skull into his clavicle, where he feels faint stuttering breaths and a small whimper.

"Castle…"

The sound of his name is so small he's not entirely sure he heard it, but he cries and holds her even tighter, rocking her back and forth.

She is here. She will be okay.

"I love you. God, I love you so much, Kate."

...

**Author's Note: This is my first fanfic for the Castle fandom. I hope I didn't butcher it? After seeing 7x14 I couldn't _not _write something. It turned out different than I expected, but I hope it's okay? The only editor is me, so all mistakes and crappy plot ideas are mine. Reviews are always welcome. I love constructive criticism! Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing.**

* * *

He hasn't seen her eyes yet.

She's lying in a hospital bed, sleeping soundly. She was drugged to high heaven when he found her, and the doctors were keeping her sedated because of the pain. But they say she could come around any minute now.

Broken ribs. A broken wrist. Various weeping infected cuts. Minor internal bleeding. A gunshot wound to the leg. There's water in her lungs. She has pneumonia.

Basically, anything that could have happened to her while in the hands of those monsters, did happen. For three months.

Luckily, many of the wounds are fresh. Tyson and Neiman must have been expecting their cover to be blown and they couldn't move her, so they shot her and beat her up before they left.

He'll never forget the way he felt when she was lifted away from him and onto a gurney and his shirt was soaked with her blood.

Because her wounds are fresh, her bones didn't get the chance to heal wrong and her leg wound only required a minor surgical fix. The doctors assured him that she was very, very lucky. He wanted to laugh.

He's glad she's sleeping. He's a mess, and he needs a moment to go crazy before he can be strong for her. He needs to stare at her a little longer, run his hands over her face a little longer, feel her pulse under his fingers a little longer, because he doesn't believe the monitors sometimes. Some nurses washed her hair when she got here, but he's been combing his fingers through it so much that it's oily again.

Her hand is limp and white in his, and he thinks he might be dreaming when he feels her fingers move.

"Kate?"

"Mhm. Rick," comes her drugged reply. Her eyes are still closed and her brow is furrowed.

"Kate. Can you open your eyes for me, honey?" He moves to block the light from her eyes as they blink open, revealing dazed, dilated pupils and the green irises he's been dreaming about for three months.

"Hi," she slurs.

He can feel the tears quickly tumbling down his face as he chokes out, "Hi."

He cradles her face and kisses her hair before he rests his forehead gently against her own. He's whispering her name over and over like a chant; cheering her on and telling her to stay alive, despite the doctor's assurances that she's out of the woods.

"I missed you," she sighs.

He chokes on a sob as he moves to bury his face in the soft flesh where her neck meets her shoulder. "God, Kate. I missed you too. I missed you so much."

"I love you," she whispers dazedly. He looks up to see her eyes blinking slowly, fighting to stay open. He kisses her forehead and cups her cheek in an attempt to coax her back to sleep.

"I love you too."

* * *

He takes her home two days later.

She's truly starting to frighten him. Once she was less sedated and more aware, she was quiet and subdued. She didn't beg to leave the hospital at all, or try to get up without help, or do anything that she would typically do. Her usual fire and authoritativeness was unsuccessfully feigned around Lanie and the boys, and she turned into a ghost again once they left. She knew she didn't have to fake it in front of him.

He was content just to look at her and watch her breathe. He still wasn't sure if she was real or not.

She never once let go of his hand, clenching her fist every time she would have a coughing fit from the pneumonia and aggravated her broken ribs. She has an iron grip, but he would never let her go; even if she broke his hand.

When he leads her into their home, he takes her directly to their bedroom. They make their way slowly due to her leg and the fact that she uses him as a crutch (he walks painfully slow and stops to check her over every time she so much as exhales). She gratefully curls up on her side of the bed, and he wants to weep at the sight of her there. He thought that he might find her side of the bed cold and empty for the rest of his life.

He slips her shoes off and tucks her under the covers before removing his own shoes and stripping down to an undershirt and boxers. She's in some old sweats that are much larger on her than they used to be, but he's been trying to ignore that fact since she put them on.

He crawls into bed next to her, his arms going around her immediately, cradling her skull against his chest and banding around her waist.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

He pulls back to look at her. "Why on earth would you be sorry?"

"I should have brought backup with me, or not gone to meet her at all, or… something."

"You were doing your job. _ They_ shouldn't have kidnapped you. They're the only people who need to be sorry, okay?"

"Okay."

She nuzzles closer to him as he presses a kiss to her hair.

"Thank you. You kept me going, you know? You got me through," she whispers.

He can feel himself starting to cry, can feel the tears that are dripping into her hair as he pulls her closer.

"Thank you for being okay," he chokes out. "Thank you for coming home."

"Always."

* * *

**Author's Note: So that's it! I apologize if this seems awkward; I wrote it in a rush to try and get it in before the episode airs tonight (I am so excited and very very scared). Thank you for all the sweet reviews! They make my day! Once again, all mistakes are mine. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I hope you enjoyed!**


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